You Will Bring Comfort

In the last few weeks, Am Israel has been hoping, praying and mourning. 

There have been countless articles and blogs about the senseless deaths of Gil-Ad, Naftali and Eyal z'l, three young boys on their way home from school, Torah books in their backpacks; in their hearts, a natural yearning to be back home in their parents' secure, loving arms; and in their minds, every boy's dream to live long, meaningful, enriched lives. 

These three boys were laid to rest on July 1st amidst crowds of thousands who drove from across the country and endured long bus rides and walked to cry, to pray, to pay their last respects crammed together under an intense July sun.

Last Shabbat, as we walked to shul, many houses posted large signs with photos and the words Bring Back Our Boys. Sheets were draped outside windows calling out  the same words. Just a week ago, we paused during our prayers to recite tehillim for these boys. It was over two weeks since they were missing and our communal prayers were still intense.

Now, three days after the funerals, the signs are still up, a quiet whisper of Bring Back Our Boys. The words seem deflated, sad, yet show that we remain resilient, strong, a reminder to never forget.

After the tragic news of their murder, my neighbor wrote across her sign: 'Baruch Dayan Emet,' the words one utters upon hearing of a death. They mean that G-d is the ultimate judge about who lives and dies and expresses that although humans can try, we have no control over life and death.   

My neighbour's sign is still on her gate. It reminds me of how senseless and fragile life is and how we must seize the precious moments, relish each fragment of joy and appreciate those who are close to us. While life here is heavy and tragic at times, the sky stoically stays azure blue and moments of life stand firmly beside those of death.

The following words, a translation of a FaceBook posting in Hebrew, expresses this moment, encapsulating the sorrow and joy of living in Israel.

“And I said to you: In your blood you shall live”

Tuesday morning, July 1st
Talmon

In the Shaar household, they are preparing for a funeral that will start in another few hours.
Just yesterday we could still hear emanating from here voices of prayer and hope.
And now – just silence.
Silence that feels as though it was created just for this moment – as though words are too small to fill it.
The thousands of people who had been coming for the past weeks to wrap the family with support, will soon be accompanying one child – wrapped in a tallit.
And they will strain to hear Elijah the Prophet greeting him at Heaven’s gates.
Only the sound of crying splits the painful silence;
The longing for the pure soul that was snatched unawares
And will soon find its place, as close as possible to the Heavenly Throne.

Not far from there, in the same Yishuv
In the home of a different family, cries are heard.
A different sort of cry.
The cry of a child, wrapped in his mother’s embrace.
Who came into this world just one week ago
And soon will meet Elijah the Prophet.
And perhaps he too is crying from longing, that he was taken unawares
From the closest possible place beside the Heavenly Throne.

5:30 in the afternoon.
A funeral and a Brit.
Blood touching blood.
The holy, pure hands of the Mohel -
Who only a few years ago separated from his son,
Killed in Yeshivat Mercaz Harav while studying Torah –
Are now supporting a baby.
And maybe he too is longing?

The cry of a baby, wrapped in the cry of a congregation.
Agony and ecstasy combining to form an elixir
Whose taste we already know.
And as the sun sets and evening falls – we pray
That You will collect all of the tears, all of the longing –
The voice heard from one end of the world to the other –
And You will bring them as close as You possibly can to the Heavenly Throne
And You will wrap them with Your endless compassion.
And You will bring comfort
And You will be revealed.

Bring Back Our Boys

After last Thursday’s kidnapping of three Israeli teens, the country has become gripped by tension, heaviness, worry and sorrow. It is as if the nation has been stabbed in the heart. And as the days go on with no new discovery, the knife twists, deepening our anguish. The TV, radio, Internet, Twitter, and Facebook beep and tweet with angles on the story. The “Bring back our boys” Facebook campaign was recently started at Bar Ilan University and is gathering force. We check the news countless times during the day, hoping, praying for a good ending.

This morning, I was part of a large group of women who gathered to recite tehillim; mothers and grandmothers, each one of us in the room has loved, doted and nurtured children, and each of us felt the depth of despair of the families involved.

Slowly, a woman read a verse of the psalms and we all repeated it. The room was silent except for the ancient words of King David that echoed in the synagogue. Someone sobbed, another’s woman’s voice shook as she broke into tears.

We may not personally know the boys, but feel like we do. They are our children’s age--young, sweet boys simply on their way home from school. They have never known violence or fear, just the tender love of their parents, warm friendships, the fun and freedom of being a teen. And this has all been destroyed.

‘Why?’ we ask. They are just children. Our children. Everyone’s children.  My friend knows one mother well and while praying for the boys’ safety, she stumbled while reciting the mother’s Hebrew name, the shock and fearful reality weighing her down. Another boy is the madrich, the youth group leader of my daughter’s classmate. Yesterday, this 13-year-old girl spent the school day quietly reciting psalms. Another boy is close family friends of our rabbi and over Shabbat, the Rabbi and Rebbetzin were in a dazed shock.

We are all affected and feel like we cannot live our normal lives with such heaviness. Everything now seems trite, unimportant. Saturday was a friend’s birthday. All day she walked around tearful and when asked if she wanted to go out to celebrate, she said ‘no.’ How can one celebrate at such a time? 

The army is now on high alert. I received an SMS that my son’s best friend, a paratrooper, was moved to Hebron. Standing Together, an organization that helps soldiers visited the special forces who are working on the case and appealed to people to donate cold drinks and ice cream. Everyone in the country is involved, body and soul.

Before Kabbalat Shabbat at synagogue in Tsfat, we all gathered and recited prayers. On Saturday, we found ourselves in a cave in Tsfat atop the metsuda. A large group of kids who were the same age as the kidnapped boys were in the cave. Spontaneously, they formed a circle in the darkness, hugging each other tightly and swaying. They sang:

Ana b'choach gedulat yemincha tatir ts’rurah
kabel rinat am’cha, sagvenu, taharenu, norah

O Lord, with the greatness​ of thy powerful right hand, we pray to thee to loosen those that are bound in captivity​. Accept the cry of thy people; exalt and purify us, O thou who art tremendou​s!

The words echoed against the dank, old walls of this cave. I could tell these teens felt the pain and they also knew the power of prayer. It came from a deep place inside each one and poured out, creating a bond of unity. These teens were Modern Orthodox and suddenly,  out of the shadows, bobbed three young Hareidi men. They joined in the song, their black hats swaying along with the group, their prayer coalescing with the teens’ prayer. The pain stings, yet it promotes unity and strength that know no equal. 

In tears, I looked up, as if following the streaming, floating words of their song and spied a tiny opening at the top of the cave. Cobwebs, weeds and beyond, a dab of brilliant blue sky above.

We may now be in confusion and darkness, but we must believe in the light. The entire country is now gripped in pain and prayer. Our thoughts are constantly returning to these boys, our prayers concentrated on their safe return, may they come home speedily.

Post Shavuot Blues

Sleep? I crave it and can’t seem to get enough. I admit that I am jet lagged, so during the daylight, I feel groggy, almost hung over; while at night, when everyone is tucked in and snoozing, a light pops in my brain and I transform into the Ever Ready Bunny.

Not good. No, no, no.

Last night, when I could not sleep, I watched a TED talk on the importance of sleep.  The discussion was fascinating and even left me feeling a bit drowsy. I was thrilled at being officially tired at 1 pm. What a concept! Imagining my cozy duvet and soft pillow, I was convinced that I would finally sleep.

There was a knock at the door and five of my older son’s friends walked in, put on the kettle and settled in on the couch. I ran down for a glass of water and another five boys walked in, friends of my younger son. They traipsed up to the TV area and settled in for a few rounds of Xbox.  The Xbox is outside my room and creates a lot of excitement.

Not good. No, no, no.

I did not want to shoo the boys away as my son is recovering from an accident and this was the most exciting event that had happened to him in days.  In fact, his ‘mishap’ enforced a lesson; sometimes, the more we want something, the more elusive it can be.

Like sleep, for instance.  

My husband and I had just returned from a trip abroad at 4 am the previous morning. Although it was still dark outside, the red winged blackbird that lives in the tree outside my bedroom window was already rustling his feathers and warming his chortle.

I fell into bed around 5 am, but did not fall into a deep sleep. At 8 am, I was jarred awake. Our daughter, on a short leave from the army, called. Of course we jumped out of bed, put on a coffee and gave her our full attention. After another coffee, I felt charged enough to unpack, do laundry, clean the house. 

By early afternoon we were both exhausted. My husband pulled down the blinds and announced he was going to sleep. I envisioned that cozy duvet and soft pillow. Dazed, I made my way upstairs and my cell phone rang.  It was my son.

“Hey. I had a surfing accident and they say I need stitches.”

“Forget the nap,” I hollered upstairs to my despairingly exhausted husband. “Sleep is not happening.”

Not good. No, no, no.

It was erev Shavuot in Israel and everyone was winding down. Cheesecakes were baking, stores were closing and offices where shutting down. This was not an ideal time for an emergency.

Not good. No, no, no.

He dashed away in the car.  I still had my eye on the pillow, even if it would bring me two or three winks of sleep. As soon as I closed my eyes, my daughter came in my room.

“I need a ride to a friend’s house. I have to be there soon.”

I rubbed my eyes and calculated that I had maybe shut my eyelids for 3 ½ seconds total. I grabbed the car keys and we took off. I was grumpy, discombobulated and had a short fuse. We got lost and made another wrong turn all with the help of a GPS.  My daughter panicked as I drove along like a delirious space cadet.

Not good. No, no, no.

She did finally arrive at her destination and I came home to a hop-along stitched-up son with barely time to light Yom Tov candles.

Forget sleep; we were entering Shavuot, the night when everyone stays awake all night long to learn Torah. I set my Torah goals low and my sleep goals high for that Shavuot.

Not good. No, no, no.

The more we want something, the more it evades us.  Think I will sit up with a slab of post-Shavuot cheesecake and watch another TED talk. Then I can listen to the red winged blackbird. We’re buddies now.

Forget G.I. Joe

With two children serving in the IDF, the theme these days is the army. When the children were little, we talked with friends about diapers, preschools and family vacations. We then moved onto driving schools and tutors. And now, with children serving as soldiers, one  may think the conversations would focus on G.I. Joe stuff. 

Well, the talk around our dinner table on Shabbat is not exactly about guns. My son, who is finishing officers’ training school is attending seminars on nutrition, physical training and leadership. My daughter, who is in the educational division of the IDF, is on another track altogether. She is being educated to be a leader for special needs soldiers. She has courses on psychology, learning disabilities, discipline. She meets with social workers, psychologists and psychiatrists.

This past week, she spent time at a base observing new soldiers in the ‘Sar’ unit. There are acronyms for every noun and verb in the army, and I am not sure what this one stands for, but I know it means compassion, strength building and changing people’s lives. 

This is a part of the army that I never knew existed and am wondering if any other military in the world or the history of defense even considered having such a unit. 

Here is how it works. When a young boy is drafted, he writes tests including psychometric tests and is also interviewed personally. If he scores low on his test or the interviewee picks up on something that is ‘off,’ either mentally or socially, he is placed in a special unit for his basic training. Some of these boys may have Apsergers or mild Autism, or may just be socially different or have issues with trust and friendship. Most of them have never left home and have never had friends or the opportunity to be part of a team. 

The unit builds up these young boys by giving them confidence and support and makes them feel that they too are important and have much to contribute to society. Social workers and psychologists are there for these boys to help strengthen them.

When my daughter was there to observe, some of them were crying like babies, missing their imas and abbas, feeling confused and out of place. And she saw the dedicated care and support given by a most professional team that works for the IDF. 

The outcome? Some of these boys drop out of the army, but most of them stay on and develop a sense of purpose and self esteem they never felt before. 

Ever. 

Not even for one day of their troubled lives when school teachers punished them, not knowing how to deal with their aberrant behavior; and when peers bullied them and ridiculed them. Slowly, unknowingly, their lives and futures were destroyed.

This happens to young people in the schools and on the streets of every small village, town and city around the world. It leads to juvenile delinquency, crime, drug abuse, violence, depression and suffering in every country.

I am not saying that Israel does not have any of these problems. It does. But the IDF has decided to use the military to defend and also to rehabilitate. This program is costly and need not be part of the army. Yet it exists, thrives and and earns high scores. 

Many of these soldiers graduate from the course and are given solid jobs in the army. After their army service, they have the confidence and self worth to move on with their lives in meaningful, useful ways. 

And just when I thought my heart was swelling with pride, I saw this movie on youtube. 

And I cried. 

I showed it to my younger children and I cried again. Please take the time to watch this. Think about Israel and consider what is happening in the rest of the world. 

I think about those 300 Nigerian school girls who are being held hostage. And I read headlines yesterday about the Sudanese executing a pregnant woman because she will not forego Christianity for Islam. 

I shake my head. And I cry.

I also recently read that, according to a rent study by the Anti Defamation league,  there are one billion anti semites in the world, and this number is growing. It comes from baseless hatred, lies and misunderstanding. Just watch the Great in Uniform video, read this blog and learn about a nation who cares, respects and builds.

Full To The Brim

Life here in Israel is full to the brim. Perhaps brimming over.

On Sunday night, Israelis gathered in city squares and town centers across the country to remember the fallen. They stood at attention Sunday night at 8 o’clock as the siren eerily blasted from north to south, plunging us into deep contemplation and sorrow. This night, we remember those who fell in the many wars that were fought in the last 66 years, as well as those who were killed from terrorist attacks.

Each year, the names of the fallen and their ages at death are read aloud in each community. Tragedy has hit every place in this country, from the smallest kibbutz to the larger cities. Ra’anana, which is a smallish town today, was a tiny village some forty years ago. Yet during the wars of 1967 and 1972, four, five and six boys were killed daily. The announcer read their ages slowly, “Eighteen. Nineteen.”

I stood there in silence and thought of the anguish, the deep sobs, the multiple funerals that the community suffered daily; a loss that tore, ripping deep holes in hearts and never went away.

Each Yom HaZikaron, relatives of those who lost loved ones are invited to place a wreath and to tell their stories. We heard from a widow, a man who lost his brother and a mother who lost her son. These people are all from Ra’anana; I may have seen them in the grocery line or in the library. They may seem to lead a routine life, yet their existence is never the same after such a tragic loss.

For a full night and day, the entire country remembers and weeps and dives headfirst into mourning. The stories of those who were killed are broadcast on TV in countless films that illustrate beautiful, hopeful, happy lives that are cut, gashed, blunted. The cameras took us into living rooms and classrooms. We met the victims’ school teachers, their best friends, their parents. They showed us chubby baby pictures, the bar mitzvah photos, videos of happy family trips and glowing report cards. And then, the parents take us into the soldiers’ bedrooms. Enshrined. Clothes in drawers, books on shelves, as if the solider is expected to walk in the door at any minute. Yet never will.

And as the sun goes down, the country transitions from despair to joy as we gear up for Yom Ha’atzma’ut, Israel Independence Day. It may be hard to understand how weeping can turn to dancing, sobbing to laughter. But it works because it represents the tension between tragedy and joy, between suffering and redemption. Just last week, we mourned the loss of six million Jews during Yom Hashoa, Holocaust Remembrance Day. And eight days later, we mourn those who perished in wars and terror.

Yet this must always turn to celebration because this country mourns then looks brightly to the future. We feel deep sorrow and we rebuild. Israel was built form the ashes of the Holocaust and we forge bright futures despite our continued losses. This is our beauty and our energy and our spark.

During Yom Ha’Atzmaut last night, as I strolled down Ra’anana’s main street, I passed open-air concerts, people dancing in circles and children atop soldiers’ shoulders grinning, waving flags.

The joy and pride and love people have for this country is palpable. And strong. I was mesmerized watching women dance the hora; as their feet thumped the ground in one united, determined step, I felt as if they were planting joy, optimism and a bright future that brims over. 

Nefesh b'Nefesh created this birthday video to celebrate Israel's 66th.